


Like Stars Darkly Shining

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Series: Dark Stars [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Demons, Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, Fallen Angels, M/M, Sherlock and John are fallen angels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:12:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft asks Sherlock and John to go after Irene Adler. But Adler knows more than they are expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Stars Darkly Shining

**Like Stars Darkly Shining**

Mycroft has always watched Sherlock closely, but after Moriarty, he keeps a close eye on John as well. Sherlock has never known whether it was concern for him, or the rest of the world that made Mycroft watch over him; he suspects a mixture of both. But now, John comes under the same half-protective, half-watchful scrutiny, and Mycroft visits to check on him as well as Sherlock.

“I don’t mind,” John tells Sherlock, when Sherlock mentions it. “Makes me feel like one of the family,” he jokes. Sherlock sniffs disdainfully.

“You were family far before Mycroft was,” he says, and John smiles, soft and affectionate. 

“How much does your brother know, anyway?” John asks, as his sips his tea. He looks harmless and cuddly like this, but Sherlock knows that this is only one side of him: other people may forget the soldier, but Sherlock never does.

“I have no idea,” he replies. “He’s always suspected something, of course – he’s not an idiot – but I’ve never known precisely what.”

John nods thoughtfully.

“Sometimes, I think we scare him.”

“Of course we scare him,” Sherlock snorts. “Anyone with the slightest intelligence would be scared.”

“He does care, though,” John adds, contemplative, and Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“Mycroft cares only for his schemes,” he sneers, but he knows what John means.

If Mycroft didn’t care for Sherlock, in his own way... things would be very different, because Mycroft’s always been the only one with the slightest inkling of what Sherlock truly is.

John makes a noise of disagreement, knowing Sherlock’s words for the lie they are, but doesn’t argue.

* * *

John blogs about some of their cases, and over time its readership grows. Sherlock and John start to attract media attention, and Sherlock worries over it, but John scoffs at his concerns.

“Sherlock, no one’s going to notice,” he says reassuringly. “Who’d believe it in this day and age, anyway? Besides, we’ve been like this since birth. It’s not like there’s any inconsistency in our behaviour for people to pick up on.”

“The indicators are all there,” Sherlock says, as he paces. “John–”

“ _Sherlock_.” John’s voice is commanding, as well as reassuring. “We’ll be _fine._ ”

So Sherlock lets it go, and although their newly-fledged fame makes him uneasy, he doesn’t ask John to stop.

* * *

Sherlock is skyping with John with nothing more than a sheet wrapped around him when Mrs Hudson lets in two men who insist on taking him to Buckingham Palace. Just to be difficult (and to see John’s reaction later) Sherlock refuses to put on the clothes they try and force him into.

John, when he sees Sherlock sitting primly on a sofa, clad in nothing but a sheet in the middle of the royal palace, starts giggling, the shadows at his back flaring wide in amusement.

“Are you wearing any pants?” he demands, and Sherlock replies, “No.”

“Okay,” John says, and bursts into giggles again.

They’re still giggling when Mycroft walks in. A quick joke at his expense from Sherlock, and the two of them are laughing uncontrollably.

Mycroft’s eyes trace the curve of the shadows behind John, but his gaze settles on their faces, his expression one of exasperation.

“Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?” he asks, as though he’d seen nothing out of the ordinary.

Sherlock feels the mirth go out of him. After all this time, he still can’t deduce how much Mycroft knows.

“We solve crimes, I blog about it and he forgets his pants,” says John, “so I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.”

Sherlock is too busy scowling to find John’s remark amusing, and the smile fades from John’s face as well as he glances as Sherlock.

“I was on a case, Mycroft,” Sherlock accuses quietly. He’s never responded well to others wielding authority over him, and Mycroft’s high-handedness infuriates him. If Mycroft were anyone other than his brother…

But Mycroft _is_ his brother, so Sherlock stays his hand and allows Mycroft liberties, galling though it is to do so.

Mycroft gives him a long look, and knows that this argument isn’t really about the case.

He pretends it is, all the same, because that’s easier than addressing the real issue.

“What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?”

“Transparent,” Sherlock agrees, because that isn’t the _point._

When Mycroft tries to hand him his clothes, Sherlock gives them a look of studied disinterest that makes John wince.

“We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation,” Mycroft implores sternly. “Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on,” he says, like Sherlock is three years old again.

Sherlock’s seen far more magnificent royal seats, but doesn’t say so. Before he can argue any further someone else enters the room – the representative of Sherlock’s mysterious client.

Sherlock would like to just walk out of here, but Mycroft steps on the edge of his sheet and almost renders Sherlock genuinely naked.

“If you weren’t my brother…” Sherlock grits out, almost incandescent with rage over the position he’s being boxed into.

“But I _am_ your brother,” Mycroft says, his eyes sharp, and wearily _knowing._ It’s the latter quality that checks Sherlock’s rage. “Sherlock, I am asking you nicely. _Put your clothes on._ ”

Sherlock gives in with a bad grace.

Still, he thinks later. At least this case is _interesting_.

He tries not to think of the look in Mycroft’s eyes, the one that said that Mycroft knew full well what Sherlock would do to him if they weren’t related.

For some reason, it hurts.

* * *

They go undercover to face Irene Adler, not that it does any good. She recognises Sherlock on sight, and slinks over completely naked to straddle his legs. Sherlock is still too taken-aback, for once in his life, to respond.

John walks in, takes one look, and the air goes still and dry. There’s a long, perilous moment when Sherlock stares at him in alarm, seeing the way that John’s wings loom until they brush the ceiling, and the way John’s eyes have filled with shadows.

“Right,” John says, nice and calmly. “Do you mind getting off my boyfriend, please?”

Irene Adler turns the colour of curdled milk, and scrambles off Sherlock like she’s been slapped. She backs away, eyes wide, and opens her mouth.

“ _Exorcizámos te, ómnis immúnde spíritus-_ ”

Sherlock screams at the agony that engulfs him, vision blurred with tears, and barely hears her next words.

_ “–ómnis satánic potéstas –” _

The pain stops abruptly, and Sherlock blinks until he can see again, until he stops trembling enough that he can move. His breath is coming in harsh gasps as he sits up, and looks for John.

John is standing with a hand at Adler’s throat, the other clapped over her mouth. She looks terrified.

“All right?” John asks, his voice rigidly even. His eyes are dark.

“F-fine,” Sherlock manages, getting to his feet. “I told you some people still remembered, John.”

John rolls his eyes a little at the I-told-you-so, but he looks relieved that Sherlock is well enough to seek an argument.

“Yeah, yeah.” His gaze returns to Adler, and he watches her contemplatively. Sherlock draws closer.

“John, she didn’t know we don’t mean her any harm,” he starts, and John’s eyes dart to him incredulously.

“Sherlock, are you _actually_ –”

“Let her go,” Sherlock says, and meets Adler’s eyes. “I’m sure she won’t attempt that again. Will you?”

Adler blinks rapidly: one long blink, one short one, and then three long blinks. _No._

Sherlock snorts at the use of Morse code, and waves at John to let her go. His eyes meet John’s, and after a moment, John lets his hands relax and fall.

Adler puts a hand to her bruised throat, her eyes still wide, and stares at them as though she’s never seen anything like them.

“ _Both_ of you,” she whispers; between fear and the lingering effects of John’s grip, her voice comes out soft and barely more than breath. Her eyes turn to John, frightened and wary, but John’s eyes are blue as ever, and she relaxes minutely, sensing that the danger is over. “You resisted,” she told John. “I’ve never seen one of your lot _resist_ before.”

John smiles pleasantly.

“Not all of ‘my lot’ are the same, thanks,” is all he says, still glancing at Sherlock every moment or so out of concern. Adler looks at him as well, and Sherlock wishes he could hide the residual tremors.

“You’re not… both of you, you should have been incapacitated the moment I started,” Adler says, some of the sparkle coming back into her eyes. “But you weren’t. You’re not ordinary demons, are you?”

Sherlock is offended by the very notion, but John laughs.

“God, no,” he says. “Anything but. Now, why don’t we sit down and all discuss this like reasonable people? Possibly with clothes on?”

Adler smiles, and Sherlock momentarily regrets that he asked John to let her go.

“Certainly,” she says. “Just let me slip into something comfortable.”

Sherlock glances at John, and sees that like him, John knows that this one is going to be trouble.

* * *

Sherlock examines Adler’s safe.

“Hmm. Should always use gloves with these things, you know. Heaviest oil deposit’s always on the first key used – that’s quite clearly the three – but after that the sequence is almost impossible to read. I’d say from the make that it’s a six digit code. Can’t be your birthday – no disrespect but clearly you were born in the eighties; the eight’s barely used, so...”

“I’d tell you the code right now but you know what? I already have,” says Adler, looking amused.

It’s at this point that three men burst into the room, holding pistols.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” John exclaims, putting down his cup of tea and glaring, clearly at the end of his tether.

“Hands behind your head,” one of the men orders, glancing at Sherlock and John. “You,” he adds to Adler, “on the floor. Keep still.”

Sherlock and John look at each other.

“I said _hands behind your head_ ,” the leader repeats with emphasis, waving his gun in their direction.

Adler smiles into her teacup.

“Boys?”

“What do you want?” Sherlock asks, as he puts his hands behind his head, John doing the same.

“I want you to open the safe,” says the leader, and John groans.

“American,” Sherlock notes. “Interesting. Why would _you_ care?”

“Sir, the safe, _now_ , please.” 

“I don’t know the code,” Sherlock points out. The man with the gun frowns at him.

“We’ve been listening. She said she told you.”

“Well, if you’d been listening, you’d know she didn’t.” Sherlock can see John becoming steadily more annoyed.

“I’m assuming I missed something,” the goon replies. “From your reputation, I’m assuming you _didn’t_ , Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock doesn’t want to admit that whatever clue Adler dropped, he missed it as well.

“For God’s sake,” John says again, looking exasperated. “ _She’s_ the one who knows the code. Ask her.”

Sherlock glances at Adler. She’s still smiling.

“Yes, sir,” says the goon. “She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I’ve learned not to trust this woman.”

Adler tries to interrupt, but the man only tells her to shut up, and turns to one of his associates.

“Mr Archer. At the count of three, shoot Dr Watson.”

“Right, that’s _it_ ,” John says, and light flickers around him.

The three men with guns scream as fire engulfs them. It touches nothing else, not the floor or the carpet; only the three men, burning with John’s wrath.

Adler has finally stopped smiling, her eyes wide and horrified.

“Stop!” she shouts. “Stop, I swear, or I’ll–”

“Or you’ll what?” Sherlock asks quietly, meeting her eyes. Adler falls silent.

It’s over after only a few minutes. The silence is heavy.

“I didn’t expect you to kill them,” Adler says finally.

“They would have killed me,” says John mildly. “I was a soldier, you know. Twice over.” He attempts a smile, but it falls flat.

“Oh, God,” Adler breathes in realisation.

“Not quite,” Sherlock interjects.

“You’re not demons. You’re _fallen angels._ ”

“Exactly,” says John. “Now, if you don’t mind, Sherlock and I would like the contents of that safe, please. There’s been enough messing about, today.”

Adler swallows, but opens the safe.

* * *

Mycroft receives Irene's phone with suitable gravity, and looks searchingly at Sherlock.

“Sherlock,” he says, almost hesitantly. “You wouldn’t happen to have encountered three CIA agents, earlier today?”

Sherlock is silent for a long moment.

“They tried to kill John,” he says at last. “John – John is a _soldier,_ Mycroft.”

This time it’s Mycroft who is silent.

“The two of you are walking a very fine line, brother,” he says finally. “Be very, very careful.”

“Mycroft,” Sherlock calls, as Mycroft turns away. Mycroft pauses, turns back, his expression inquiring. Sherlock still hasn’t forgotten the way Mycroft looked at him, the last time they met.

Mycroft waits, as Sherlock struggles for the words.

“You’re my brother. It’s not – it’s not merely _obligation._ ”

Mycroft stands there for a moment, and then inclines his head. 

“Likewise, Sherlock,” he says, and walks away, leaving Sherlock feeling strangely small.

**Author's Note:**

> _In the original draft of the first story in this series (Shining Like Dark Stars), it was clear that Mycroft had known from an early age that there was something not right about Sherlock, but protected him anyway. Most of that was lost in the final draft. So I decided that if I wrote a second story, one of the things I wanted to explore was the Holmes' brothers relationship. Hence this story._


End file.
